


don't come morning, don't come light

by skyestiel



Category: D.Gray-man
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, M/M, Minor Violence, Porn with Feelings, blame the hair kink tag on allen, excessive bantering, kanda is new to this whole Feelings thing, kanda's foul mouth, mild hair kink, not too awkward first time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-17
Updated: 2016-05-24
Packaged: 2018-06-08 20:37:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6872500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skyestiel/pseuds/skyestiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kanda is used to creeps hitting on him in this ratty hellhole of a bar. Not that he enjoys it, of course. That is until someone shows up with a brilliant (yet troublesome) solution to both of their problems. </p><p>“You have an interesting way of dealing with them,” he says by way of greeting. A strand of white hair falls in front of his eyes, and he flicks it away. </p><p>  <i>Allen Walker.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. part 1

**Author's Note:**

> look who finally wrote a dgm fic!! after all my screaming, it's shocking i didn't get around to this sooner. as you probably know, this is my first fic for the fandom and, consequently, my first yullen fic. my sister came up with this au idea, and it seemed like the perfect starting point. 
> 
> so this ended up being a lot longer than expected?? because of its length, i decided to split this fic into two parts. the rating may change to E depending on where i decide to take the second part. oh and the title is from the [sara bareilles song, "stay"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VhLEoDOmWgA) if you want to give it a listen!! i hope this isn't awful and um... enjoy!

Kanda is torn.

On one hand, he’s used to it. But, on the other, he’s getting real tired of this shit.

Every night, the same routine. He steps inside the bar and marches up to the counter, hoping to have a drink or two in amicable silence. Most of the time, he lets his hair hang loose and free over his shoulders. He doesn’t give a damn about what anyone else thinks and dresses accordingly. Maybe he wants to wear a button-down and dress pants, maybe a cardigan and short-sleeved shirt, maybe a band tee and ripped jeans. Hell, there have even been nights he comes straight from meditating, decked out in the most casual clothes he owns.

He could care less. And, regardless of his outfit, it never fails.

Tonight is a typical autumn night. The chill forces Kanda to cross his arms, hands buried in the warm folds of his cardigan. His black flats click against the pavement, a pleasant rhythm, far more pleasant than the many combined voices of the evening. Fucking crowds. Kanda clips countless shoulders on the way to his destination. He pushes through the front door, a hefty wooden slammer that should’ve been done away with years ago, and makes a beeline for the bar. His eyes stray to the bartender.

He slides onto the nearest stool and props his elbows on the counter. The air is thick with sweat, laughter, and alcohol-driven aspirations. People gather around tables and tuck themselves in intimate corners, bleary-eyed and hopeful, exhausted from long days of work and other trying tasks of life. Kanda’s legs are fucking sore from training earlier in the day. A coworker pissed him off more than usual, and, admittedly, he probably pushed himself too hard at the gym.

Kanda flags down the bartender. Jerry, Jeffery- something like that.

“The usual?” Jerry-Jeffrey trills, sidling up to Kanda. He’s a large man, broad-shouldered and muscular, strong biceps exposed by the sleeveless shirt adorning his figure. Thick black lines frame his eyes and a dusting of purple covers the space between lashes and brow bone. Several gold hoops cling to his ears, a thin chain and cross around his neck. The combination is startling and, Kanda supposes, contradictory, but also makes the guy more intimidating.

“Yeah,” Kanda answers curtly. It feels like he’s known the bartender for ages. He’s been there since the first night Kanda strolled into this sorry excuse for a bar. And has been chipper as fucking ever, every day since. 

Jerry-Jeffrey walks off to start on Kanda’s drink and, right on cue, it begins.

“Well, hello,” a sickly voice purrs off to Kanda’s left. Every breathed syllable smells strongly of liquor, and Kanda flinches.

Grudgingly, he turns. The bastard is balding, shiny scalp reflecting any light from the shabby lamps overhead. His nose keeps twitching, eyes flashing dangerously, and his fingers shake where they sit in his lap. Kanda feels his lips curl into a disgusted scowl when he notices the stranger won’t make eye contact. His gaze hungrily sweeps over Kanda, lingering on his waist and the strands of hair tumbling over his shoulders like a dark curtain.

“Looks like I’ve found a reason to keep coming back.” The creep has the nerve to lick his lips after he speaks. “I never knew there were pretty ladies like you around these parts.”

“What the hell do you want?” Kanda hisses. Sadly, he already has a good idea of what the pervert is getting at.

“Did you come here alone?” The man leans closer, grubby fingers inching closer to Kanda’s knees. “You look like you need someone to keep you company.”

Kanda almost vomits right then and there.

“Get lost,” he growls. It’s been a long day, and there isn’t a single ounce of patience left in his body for someone like this. “I’m trying to enjoy my fucking drink. Alone.”

“C’mon, now. Don’t be like th-“

Before he can say another word, Kanda reaches out and grabs the back of the stranger’s head. In one quick motion, Kanda bashes his head into the bar and watches as the man goes stiff. The contact is just enough to knock the bastard out and catch the bouncer’s attention.

Which Kanda, of course, does as soon as he makes sure the dickhead is still breathing.

“The first one of the night,” Jerry-Jeffrey comments, and Kanda glances in his direction. The bartender never does anything to stop him in these situations. As a matter of fact, on several occasions, he’s _encouraged_ Kanda. No one likes an asshole who tries to force themselves on people.

“Hopefully there won’t be any more.” Kanda snags his drink and takes a swig. He slams the glass back down on the counter and winces briefly as the whiskey burns a path down his throat.

Jerry-Jeffrey pauses, the dirty glass in his hands momentarily forgotten. His eyes widen, and he jerks his head toward the opposite end of the bar. _Huh?_ Kanda eyes him questioningly but turns to look.

His smile- that’s the first thing Kanda notes about the person sitting several stools away. Followed shortly by the red tattoo on the left side of his face. A star rests on his temple, a jagged lightning bolt-like shape stretching up toward his scalp and down past his eye, over his cheek. His hair is white, like an early winter snowfall, and Kanda can’t tell whether it’s natural or dyed. Either way, every feature is striking. He would stand out in a crowd as it is, but in a dreary little place like this, he might as well have a giant, flashing sign above his head that reads, “FRESH MEAT.”

Seconds later, a guy claims the seat next to Mr. Radiant. He’s equally as jittery as the man who approached Kanda.

“Y-you want a drink?” Kanda hears him stutter. He’s digging out his wallet before any sort of answer is given, quivering fingers digging through haphazard clumps of cash. “I’ll buy you one. Or two. Or however many you want.”

Kanda clicks his tongue and props his chin in his hand. _This should be good_.

“I’m fine, really,” Mr. Radiant answers with a soft chuckle. Even from this distance, the sound hums pleasantly over Kanda’s skin. _Oh._ He has an accent- British maybe? It’s kind of nice. “I’m afraid I don’t have much of an alcohol tolerance. I couldn’t handle much more than one drink.”

“What the hell?” Kanda mumbles. If he’s trying to discourage the creep, he’s going about it in a weird way.

The bastard’s eyes practically sparkle. “Ah, t-that’s okay. I’ll be happy to getcha just one.”

Mr. Radiant’s grin widens, and, somehow, the upturned lips make him look even prettier. It pisses Kanda off. The guy is… suspicious, to say the least.

“That’s so kind of you,” the boy gushes, “My master has quite a gambling problem and leaves me with very little money to spend.” He casts his eyes down, hunching over the bar. “I’ll be lucky to afford a glass of cheap wine.”

“Do you want a martini? Dirty?” His pursuer sounds frantic, gesturing at the shelves of liquor on the other side of the counter. “A cosmopolitan? Daquiri-“

“A Bloody Mary would be lovely,” Mr. Radiant interjects, still all smiles. He laughs, lashes kissing his cheeks, and that’s when Kanda realizes: he knows exactly what he’s doing.

“No fucking way.” He shakes his head. Jerry-Jeffrey shares the sentiment and motions for Kanda to keep watching the rest of the events unfold. “It gets better,” he assures Kanda.

The man calls for the bartender and orders Mr. Radiant’s drink, along with a tall beer, a dark lager. An Oktoberfest blend. Jerry-Jeffrey flashes Kanda a secretive grin as he saunters back to the shelves and fixes both beverages.

“Here you go, sweetie,” he says, pushing both glasses across the counter.

For the next several minutes, Kanda watches in stupefied silence as the beautiful boy polishes off his Bloody Mary. The pervert at his side clearly wants to keep up and orders another beer before he’s even halfway finished with his original drink. Two empty glasses later and the creep has outdone himself. He’s a couple beers deep and seconds away from passing out, two tall glasses filled with untouched frothy liquid still in front of him.

Mr. Radiant snickers and pats the man on the back as he finally drops his face onto the counter. He lets out a long groan before going silent.

Kanda blinks. But no, he’s not hallucinating.

The boy reaches over the now soundly sleeping man to grab the nearest drink. He’s fucking _giggling_ as he lifts it to his lips, taking a long swig, white foam clinging to the space above his mouth like an old man’s mustache. It’s almost the same color as his hair.

Before Kanda can even think of standing, Mr. Radiant glances in his direction. He’s holding the beer, the fingers of his free hand tapping happily against the bottom of the second glass. If not for the button-down and pewter gray vest, Kanda would’ve found the white gloves out of place. Oddly enough, they fit. The bow holding the strangely enticing package together. 

The boy simpers and slides off the bar stool. Maintaining eye contact, he claims the seat on the opposite side of Kanda, the one not occupied by a forcibly knocked out drunkard.

“You have an interesting way of dealing with them,” he says by way of greeting. A strand of white hair falls in front of his eyes, and he flicks it away.

“They’re annoying.” Kanda grimaces, averting his gaze. “And I’m not in the fucking mood for it right now.”

“I can tell,” the boy answers, almost snidely, and Kanda levels his fieriest glare in the other’s direction. “You have a… how do I put this? Perpetually angry face? Maybe-“

“What’s your name, beansprout?” The nickname rolls easily off Kanda’s tongue. At this proximity, he can finally compare their heights. And takes pride in the few inches he holds over the presumptuous bastard.

“Allen,” he chimes and holds a gloved hand out to Kanda. “Allen Walker.”

Kanda glares at the offered appendage and clicks his tongue. “I think beansprout fits you better.”

Mr. Radiant- _Allen_ \- refuses to drop his arm. “And you are?”

“Kanda.”

“Kanda…?”

“That’s it, Kanda. Not good enough for you?” Kanda folds his arms across his chest.

“Sounds Japanese,” Allen says, “Is that your last name?”

“It’s my fucking _name_. What more do you want from me?”

“Your full name.”

“And why the hell do I owe you that?”

“I show you mine, you show me yours,” Allen replies, beaming.

Kanda was right about wanting to knock this asshole upside the head.

“My name is _Kanda,_ ” he snarls, slowly pronouncing every syllable in his name for Allen who clearly doesn’t understand. “That’s what I go by so that’s what you’re gonna call me.”

Allen blinks, brow furrowed, and regards Kanda critically. His face scrunches up for a moment, as if seriously thinking over the matter.  Eventually, his facial muscles relax and the lazy grin returns. “Looks like someone has a stick up their ass.”

Kanda lunges in Allen’s direction with the sole intention of strangling. But Jerry-Jeffrey is faster.

“Now, now,” he chides, shaking his head, “I’d hate to have to kick you lovely people out.”

“Just get rid of the beansprout.” Kanda pushes against the crook of the bartender’s arm and it drops. “He’s the one that’ll scare away customers. Just shear all his fucking old man hair off. Sell that to the perverts and make more money.”

“It’s _Allen_. Besides, that’s not true. Your hair would fetch a much higher price.”

“And why the hell is that?”

“Because-“ Allen leans over then and, fulfilling some sort of sick death wish, pinches a few strands of Kanda’s hair between his fingers- “it’s soft, long, dark. Kind of silky.”

“W-What do you-“

Testing his luck even further, Allen lifts the hair to his nose. His eyes flutter shut and, with a tiny contented sigh, he inhales. Leveling Kanda with a lidded stare, Allen exhales slowly. The words glide over his lips like honey. “And it smells nice.”

 _Oh. Fuck_.

Kanda doesn’t blush. No, there isn’t a person alive capable of reddening his cheeks. If he were anyone else, though, the glint in Allen’s eyes would be enough to bring him to his knees. It’s sweet, with a hint of playfulness and just the right amount of mischief.

Flustered, Kanda tugs his hair out of Allen’s grasp. “Don’t touch my hair.”

“These customers would love to get ahold of your hair, both of yours,” Jerry-Jeffery butts in, “but not in any way you would enjoy.”

Kanda cringes. “Over my dead body.”

“I actually have to agree with Kanda on this one,” Allen says, nodding.

“Why did you come over here in the first place?” The guy is starting to piss Kanda off. He bears an uncanny resemblance to the overly friendly redhead at Kanda’s station- the same one who almost pushed Kanda enough to earn himself a broken jaw. “Just to annoy me?”

“I came over here,” Allen answers, disregarding Kanda’s sour tone, “because I have a plan.”

“A plan.”

“Yes, and one that will surely work.” Allen is wearing that infuriatingly smug expression again. Light dances in his eyes, bright and expectant. “How long were you watching me?”

Something about the question and its wording makes Kanda shift in his seat. _I wasn’t watching you_ , he wants to say. Because that’s the last thing he’d ever be doing. But being honest about it sounds more condemning somehow and the internal debate is making Kanda’s head hurt.

“We’ve been watching since that… interesting fellow over there joined you for a drink,” Jerry-Jeffrey supplies in Kanda’s place. “You planned the whole thing, didn’t you? Just to earn some free alcohol?”

Allen laughs. Lilting, like a bell’s chime, it soothes the tension hanging in the air. Kanda doesn’t know how to handle his reaction and kind of wants to punch a hole through the counter. For no apparent reason.

“I did, yes. Hopefully you two are the only people that noticed.” Allen turns then, scanning the nearby area for eavesdroppers. A quick sweep, and he’s back to the conversation, blocking his moving lips from everyone else. “Which is where my plan comes in.”

“No,” Kanda deadpans.

“You didn’t even hear me out!”

“And?”

“And that stick up your ass isn’t loosening whatsoever! It may never see the light of day ever again!”

Jerry-Jeffrey is quick to stop Kanda. The wide splay of his fingers extend over Kanda’s heaving chest. “Please, please, at least listen to what he has to say, honey.”

Kanda swallows down the flurry of insults rushing up his throat after being called _honey_. If there’s anything he hates more than being called “Yuu,” it’s being given a pet name.

“Thank you, Jeffrey-“

“-Jerry-“

“Jerry.” Allen flashes the bartender a quick smile. “Now, the plan. Since you’ve already seen the way it plays out, I won’t waste your time explaining it again.” He settles more comfortably on the bar stool, hand still held strategically beside his mouth. “We’re going to do the same thing. But together.”

 _Together_.

“Have you lost your damn mind?”

“Maybe, but it’s guaranteed to work! I swear,” Allen implores, gesticulating wildly as he rushes on. “Consider it revenge for all the times you’ve been hit on.”

“Revenge.” Kanda tests the word out, liking the way it tastes. “Fine. But don’t get too cocky, beansprout.”

“You don’t think this will work.”

“I never said that.”

“It’s obvious,” Allen says with a long suffering sigh. “Have you ever looked at yourself in the mirror?”

“Huh?”

“Kanda, as much as I hate to admit it, your bitter personality does nothing to detract from your appearance.” Allen motions at Kanda’s face, tone matter of fact. “You’re very beautiful.”

Warmth settles in Kanda’s belly; he blames it on the whiskey from earlier.

“Cut the crap.” Kanda crosses his legs, head cocked to the side. He observes Allen like he would any criminal on the job. Like a mystery he can’t seem to solve or puzzle he can’t piece together. His eyes narrow. “How are you so confident? It’s like you’re used to gambling and making bets. And winning.”

Allen purses his mouth in a proud smirk but says nothing.

Kanda groans. “What happens if this is just a giant failure?”

Allen finally moves the gloved hand away from his mouth. Everything about his posture, from the palm supporting his chin, to the scrutinizing look and set of his lips, screams mischief. And danger.

“It won’t be.”

 

* * *

 

Kanda doesn’t see Allen until the following night.

Instinct urges him to tie his hair back in a ponytail for the evening, long strands slung over his right shoulder. That same annoying instinct convinces him to dress in a white dress shirt and black pants, a navy blue tie hanging around his collar. His colleague insists the pants would reduce any human being to tears. Because they make his ass look _that_ good.

Which, of course, resulted in Kanda yelling at the bastard because _why were you staring at my ass in the first place?!_

Jerry waves at Kanda as he walks through the entryway. It’s ten o’clock, and most of the customers, at least the sort Kanda and Allen are after, have started trickling in. They claim seats along the bar, peering into their nearly empty glasses, eyes glazed over with inebriation and discontent.

“I already found some easy targets.”

Kanda startles and stops himself just before he socks Allen in the jaw. Force of habit. “What the fuck? Don’t just sneak up on me like that.”

“Would you have punched me?” Allen sets a reassuring hand on Kanda’s shoulder, and it’s promptly shoved away. “I figured as much. Well, that would have put an end to our business before it even began.”

Kanda scoffs. “Like it’d make a difference. After what you said yesterday, it seems like you think I could rake in enough cash by myself.”

This is what Kanda thrives on. He _lives_ for instigating people, especially the confusing ones. So he’s trying to get a rise out of Allen, trying to piss him off, but no. Allen doesn’t take the bait like most others do. “I suppose you’re right. You’re far more attractive than me. But I’m too excited to stop now!”

Seriously, this guy makes no sense to Kanda. None whatsoever.

To kick off the night, Kanda and Allen approach a middle-aged man perched at the furthest end of the bar. He’s wearing what looks to be an expensive suit, tailored specifically for his frame. The rings adorning his fingers, as well as the watch around his wrist, promise opulence.

“Do you mind if we join you?” Allen asks, voice dripping with sugary sweet kindness.

The man gives Allen an appreciative onceover before shifting, openly gawking at Kanda. He repeats the gesture but is slower about it, languid, savoring every second. Kanda grits his teeth and stifles the urge to hit the creep.

“Please, I insist.” Phony, horrifyingly phony. He pats the two stools on either side of him.

Kanda and Allen obey, sliding into both vacant seats. While Kanda flops carelessly into his seat, Allen carefully positions himself. Even Kanda can tell what he’s doing as he moves, slowly and purposefully shifting his legs. The skin tight jeans leave nothing to the imagination.

Their victim takes note of Allen’s pronounced assets, mouth shaping into a delighted “O,” but doesn’t try anything scummy like trying to cop a feel. Kanda feels like slapping him anyway but refrains.

They sit and chat for what feels like hours. As he’d originally thought, their victim is a businessman with (according to him, at least) plenty of money to go around. He buys Kanda and Allen two rounds of martinis before he eventually sags onto the counter.

“That was… easy,” Kanda admits. When he first caught sight of the guy, he was sure he’d be the type they’d have to knock out. Instead, they manage to earn themselves two rounds of drinks, free of charge.

Plus, multiple people meant the man had to divide his attention. For a minute or two, he’d make bleary eye contact with Allen. Right as fingers inched closer to a thigh or knee, Kanda would clear his throat and divert the man’s focus elsewhere. The cycle repeated itself until he ran out of steam and tired of their presence.

No unwanted touching, no excessive flirting- it was amazing.

“I told you,” Allen singsongs, emptying the last of his second martini. He sounds way too fucking pleased with himself for Kanda’s liking. “And I picked the perfect first victim.”

“Whatever. Idiot beansprout.” Kanda winces the second the words pass over his lips. _Real clever, Kanda, you sure showed him._ “A-Anyway, what do we do now?”

Leaning back, tapping his foot on the rung of his stool, Allen scans their surroundings. “We find another one.”

 

* * *

 

Several nights follow in a similar fashion.

“He almost touched your precious hair,” Allen comments, lips pressed to the rim of his glass. “How is he still alive?”

“Because it would look bad if an officer of the fucking law landed his ass in jail.”

“Ah, a cop. Everything makes sense now.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Kanda licks away the substantial beer mustache beneath his nose.

“It’s not an insult,” Allen assures him, “Just an observation. Although, I never knew what to think since you don’t have a… a gun.”

“It’s a long story.” Kanda’s gotten this same question on countless occasions. “My adopted uncle is a big deal around here and, considering the kind of shit they’ve put me through in the past, I don’t have to work nights anymore.”

“Sounds…”

“Unbelievable, yeah, I know,” Kanda says. “I’d go in if they wanted, but the bastards won’t do it anymore. Not after what happened to-“ he hesitates, throat suddenly dry- “Alma.”

Silence follows his explanation. A bead of water glides down the side of Allen’s beer glass, and Kanda tracks it with his eyes. Alma meant the world to him; he would do anything to have him back at his side. This isn’t a story he tells. No one, not a single soul, not even his uncle Tiedoll. And he prefers to keep it that way.

“I’m sure they’re just looking out for you,” Allen finally answers. He smooths his gloved fingers down the side of the glass and lifts it to his lips for another drink. As he sets it back on the counter, it clunks loudly and Kanda notes how quiet the bar is at this ungodly hour.

“Yeah, well, I can handle myself.” Kanda is fully aware that he sounds like a petulant child, like some stubborn rebellious brat. “I train constantly, and I don’t want my hard work to go to waste. They don’t pull that shit with my partner, and he’s a walking disaster waiting to happen.”

“Regardless of whether you like it,” Allen says, “they do it because they care. At least you have people that do.”

Kanda opens his mouth, ready to unleash another snappy retort, but freezes when he sees the expression on Allen’s face. The curl of his lips is far from genuine, and, if Kanda looks close enough, he swears he spots… are those tears?

“Don’t take those people for granted, Kanda.” Solemn, quiet, spoken with the utmost care. “Please don’t.”

 

* * *

 

“What about a sword?” Allen comments offhandedly. “You seem like the kind of person who knows how to handle a sword.”

He makes the most off-the-wall observations Kanda has ever heard. Well, besides the kind of shit that spews from his partner, Lavi’s mouth. The two would probably get along _famously_ , and, to be honest, this revelation keeps Kanda up at night.

“You’re not wrong,” Kanda says, frank. “Mugen is the ideal weapon.”

He realizes his mistake a second too late.

“You gave your sword a _name_?”

“Shut up!”

“It’s okay, Kanda,” Allen soothes.

“You’re such an ass.”

Allen gasps in mock terror, slapping a hand over his mouth. “That’s it!”

“...”

“There isn’t a stick shoved up your ass. There’s a sword!”

Kanda threatens to shave Allen’s head for the millionth time.

 

* * *

 

They develop a routine of sorts.

At around ten o’clock, two nights a week, they meet in this ratty hellhole to scam perverts. It becomes easier with each passing day, and Kanda learns more about Allen and his surprising alcohol tolerance. More than he ever wanted to know.

As is the nature of bar outings, alcohol loosens the tongue. Kanda knows this all too well after the few incidents he’s been dragged out for a drink by his persistent uncle. Or the one time he went with Lavi and watched in horror as he charmed the most attractive men and women in the bar. It was both impressive and horrifying and still confuses the fuck out of Kanda. Never did he think he’d be impressed by something _Lavi_ did.

But listening to Allen’s stories, he finds, isn’t quite so bad.

The poor guy has a terrible past. Hell, it almost rivals Kanda’s own fucked up life. His father died when he was hardly more than five years old. After he passed away, Allen was sent off to a distant relative, a man named Cross Marian who, apparently, had no idea how to raise kids. His gambling addiction kept him occupied and got Allen into a considerable amount of trouble. Debts piled up in no time flat, and Allen was the sorry jackass responsible for paying back every single penny owed.

Most of his childhood was spent gambling. He learned a few tricks from veteran gamblers in the beginning and made short work of most casinos wherever he and Cross traveled. Unfortunately, the more money he made, the more his “Master” went out and spent it. On women, alcohol, lavish clothing and furniture- you name it.

“And you don’t see anything weird about working as a card dealer-“

“Croupier-“

“ _Croupier_ ,” Kanda repeats through gritted teeth, “after years of gambling? Seems like some sort of fucked up irony to me.”

“Actually, it’s fun.” Allen winks at a guy slouched a few seats over, and the guy grins like the world’s biggest dumbass. Kanda rolls his eyes. “I know all their dirty little tricks. Once I figure out their tells, I can keep them on my radar and, when they strike, work my magic. You wouldn’t believe how obvious some of those poor people are.”

Kanda can’t help but be amazed. There’s no way in hell he’d try to pull the wool over a card dealer’s eyes. The repercussions and embarrassment would be beyond troublesome. And counting cards is out of the question. Kanda may be a brilliant fighter, but, when it comes to math, he’s lost. Let’s just say he’d never last a day in Vegas.

“Amateurs,” Allen chuckles. His fingers flutter around the stem of his wine glass, a notably strange choice for the evening. Kanda has never seen Allen drink anything besides mixed drinks, hard liquor, and beer. Mostly mixed drinks, now that he thinks about it. Allen turns to Kanda, a lackadaisical smile playing across his face. “I could always teach you some tricks.”

“No.”

“What would it hurt? It’s not like I’m training you to go on a global casino scam.”

“Why else would you teach me?”

The faintest hint of pink colors Allen’s cheeks. “You may need it one day. And it would give us the chance to…”

“To?” Kanda isn’t sure if he likes where this is going.

“To meet somewhere other than this dingy little bar all the time,” Allen says, charmingly honest. His accent shapes the word “dingy” into something almost cute. Kanda feels the unmistakable itch under his skin. He barely stifles the urge to charge out the door and run a few laps around the block.

“Maybe...”

“Hm?” Allen leans a bit closer, hand cupped around his ear. “Did you say something?”

“I said ‘maybe,’ dumbass. Happy now?”

Allen glances at the shelves lining the wall behind the bar, at the ceiling, at the drowsy men eying them from the closest table. Finally, his focus settles back on Kanda. And it steals his breath for a moment.

Completely genuine, small and secretive, the smile Allen wears illuminates his entire face. It draws attention from the tattoo crossing his eye, from the white lashes framing glinting gray irises. A few locks of white hair tickle his forehead, the bridge of his nose, and Kanda considers brushing them behind his ears.

 _He goes on and on about how beautiful I am,_ Kanda thinks, _but I’m nothing compared to this bastard when he smiles._ The thought rattles his brain and restores his breathing. It’s too mushy; he isn’t mushy. More like a Sour Patch Kid without the sugary sweet aftertaste.

“Quite,” Allen concedes. He purposely angles his face away from Kanda when he notices the confusion marring his expression.

“Tch, idiot beansprout.” Kanda fishes for a change in subject. A stocky man, sporting a considerable beer gut, drops into a stool nearby. “Stop being sappy so we can trick that fucker over there.”

“Fine. Ba-“

“Don’t you fucking _dare_.”

“BaKanda,” Allen chirps and dodges, moving just out of Kanda’s reach, brimming with self-satisfaction. “Boy, am I happy you taught me that little gem.”

“See if I ever teach you another word in Japanese ever again.”

Kanda will never admit it, but… he’s grown to tolerate Allen. Maybe even like him.

 _Fuck_.

 

* * *

 

“How’r you s’pretty?” Allen slurs after his third cosmopolitan of the evening. “Like… I don’ get it.”

“Shut the hell up.”

For some reason, the boy has a strange fascination with Kanda’s hair. He lifts a hand to his mouth and snags the loose white fabric at the tips of his fingers with his teeth. Kanda gapes in horrified silence as Allen tugs the glove off his hand, tossing it to the side.

He reaches forward and cradles Kanda’s hair in his palm. Glazed eyes peer down in stupefied admiration. He curls his fingers and slowly combs them through the silky black strands. A small knot halts his movements, and his tongue pokes out from between pursed lips, completely focused on the task at hand. He hesitates before dragging his fingers the rest of the way, taking care to not tug too hard.

Kanda’s chest feels warm when Allen finally reaches the end, hair falling back to its rightful place against his fitted black shirt. The heat spreads and, shit, he wants to crawl out of his own skin to escape the burn.

“An’ your hair is s’nice. An’ you smell nice. Wow.” Allen is still slurring, but there’s a husky note to his voice that makes Kanda want to bolt. He doesn’t even know where he’d go, but he wants to _run_. And the worst part is that he knows liquor has nothing to do with how he feels.

“Seriously, beansprout, give it a rest. You’re starting to sound like one of the creeps.”

 

* * *

 

Kanda doesn’t like this guy.

Right off the bat, his instincts scream at him to leave this drunkard alone. There’s something distinctly different about him.

He’s dressed in a crisp black suit, the burgundy sheen of a tie between his lapels. No expensive rings hang around his fingers, but a silver watch glints in the low lighting as he pushes back a sleeve to check the time. A briefcase rests against the bar stool he sits on, likely real leather. His hair is slicked back, chocolate brown strands split down the middle and plastered to his skull by gel. The smarmy grin on his thin lips makes Kanda want to punch something, preferably his pronounced jawline.

“He’s _definitely_ got money,” Allen whispers, voice oozing with excitement. He jabs his elbow in Kanda’s side. “Target acquired.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“He’s bad news,” Kanda says. “Trust me.”

“Fine, I’ll handle him on my own then.” Allen hops off his seat and smooths down the hem of his vest. “Don’t come crying to me when your sober ass wants a free drink.”

“Beansprout, I’m serious. Just leave it be.”

Allen flashes an aggravated leer over his shoulder and keeps walking. His hips sway deliberately with every step. “Screw off.”

 _Really_? Kanda bristles, crossing his arms. If Allen wants to be an idiot, Kanda won’t stop him. It’s his own damn fault if the snobby bastard ends up being a handful. It is… and yet Kanda has to force himself to not reach for Allen’s arm. Or, worse, start begging and pleading for him to stop.

Ignoring Kanda’s penetrating gaze, Allen joins the newcomer at the bar. He crosses his legs and swivels to inspect his latest victim. Even from this angle, Kanda can clearly make out the fake admiration masking Allen’s face. He’s undeniably attractive, though, and the man would have to be an idiot or blind to _not_ pay Allen attention.

“And who might you be?” The stranger prompts, eyes shamelessly roaming over Allen.

Kanda’s hands bunch into fists in his lap. It’s been weeks, months, since he last watched this act as an outside observer. Once they teamed up, there was no need to be afraid of wandering hands, of predatory looks or manipulative words. Kanda had completely forgotten the sort of garbage Allen dealt with in these situations.

His blood boils at the sight.

“Just a stranger who doesn’t want to drink alone,” Allen answers, “And you?”

“I’m the same, I suppose. Although…” He slides his hand across the counter and covers Allen’s. His shoulders tense, not expecting the sudden contact. “You’re more beautiful than I am.”

Kanda clicks his tongue. _Slick bastard, trying to warm up to Allen_. The surrounding tables are getting a bit rowdy, and Kanda moves closer, worried he won’t be able to hear their conversation with the new surge of customers. His new seat gives him a different viewing perspective. From here, he can only see Allen.

“Well, thank you,” Allen says, smile becoming progressively more forced. “You’re too kind.”

“You know, drinking is nice. But I can think of a far better way to spend our time together.” The man bends closer, fingers inching up Allen’s thigh as he whispers something in his ear. Whatever it is makes Allen blush.

Kanda sees red. He sure as hell wasn’t born yesterday; the son of a bitch is trying to get Allen to go home with him.

“Ah, I really can’t accept your offer.” Allen laughs awkwardly and goes to push the man back. But he doesn’t budge. “Sir, please-“

“Don’t make this difficult. Just relax.” His hands are getting dangerously close to Allen’s waistline, seconds away from-

Before Kanda knows what’s happening, he’s across the room. He grabs the man by the shoulders and forcefully shoves, hard enough to send the stool toppling over with its sick, twisted occupant. He crumples to the floor with a howl, curling into a ball as his head cracks against the ground.

“What the _fuck_?” Furious, he tilts his head to stare up at Kanda. Blood trickles down the side of his face. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Don’t. Touch. Him,” Kanda seethes. He stands between Allen and the waste of space writhing around on the floor like a maggot.

“He was asking for it!”

Kanda slams the toe of his boot into the man’s stomach. “If I ever see your ugly mug in this bar again, you’ll regret it.”

“What, are you his bodyguard?” The man wheezes, a gross imitation of a chuckle. “His boyfriend? You better learn to keep him on a tighter leash.”

Kanda’s body practically burns with rage. He kicks and kicks and _kicks_ until someone tugs on his wrist. “Kanda! Stop! Let’s just leave!”

 _Allen_.

Somehow, Kanda manages to make his leg stop. His knuckles are white when he flexes his fingers, arms loose at his sides. Silently, he nods and allows Allen to lightly tug him from the scene of the fight. His hold is gentle yet forceful, just like Allen. So very Allen.

Once they reach the door, Kanda halts. He speaks without turning around, voice raspy. “You’ll never be good enough for someone like Allen.”

With that, Kanda pushes through the front door. He can almost swear he hears Jerry laugh and yell something about always cleaning up their messes. There’s shouting and absolute mayhem, but Kanda keeps moving forward. Afraid of what he’ll see, he doesn’t look at Allen.

It’s him pulling Allen along now. And he has no clue where they’re going.


	2. part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow so... this fic received better feedback than i expected?? this was supposed to be a practice trial in writing dgm so i'm absolutely thrilled this many people enjoyed the first part! hopefully you enjoy the second half as much (if not more) than the first! also, as i said before, the rating has gone up to E. for reasons that'll be obvious once you dig into the meat of this
> 
> also!!!!! the lovely steph [drew some art for this fic](http://tobiologist.tumblr.com/post/144809233365/yluminary-so-i-got-back-into-yullen-hell)!!!!!!! IT'S ABSOLUTELY STUNNING AND I'M SO SO THAKNFUL!! definitely check it out! this has been a lot of fun and i can't wait to write more for this fandom. enjoy~

The taxicab is eerily quiet.

Kanda and Allen sit, both staring out their respective windows. The seat between them feels more like miles, and Kanda wishes he knew how to ease the sweltering tension. It’s downright oppressive in such a small space. What do you even say at a time like this? Sorry I beat the shit out of a stranger for trying to force you into sex? Sorry we didn’t get any free drinks tonight?

Hell, does he even _apologize_?

Communication is fucking hard; this is why Kanda keeps his “friends” to a minimum.

To his relief, Allen does the honor of breaking the silence. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, sure,” Kanda grunts. Which, for Kanda, is utterly sincere. 

A brief pause follows before Allen speaks again, shakier this time. “Why?”

“Huh?”

“Why did you do it?” Allen turns sharply. Desperation seeps into his voice. “Why?”

“You’re kidding, right?” Kanda replies, baffled. “Because that guy was about to get into your pants, whether you wanted him to or not. Which I could tell you definitely didn’t.”

“You didn’t have to interfere like that!”

“Well, I _wanted_ to.”

“I can handle myself!”

“I know that, dumbass!”

“Then _why_?”

“I don’t know,” Kanda retorts, completely honest. They’re both yelling at this point, and he can only imagine what the cab driver must be thinking. Poor bastard.

“How do you-” Allen makes furious air quotations with his fingers- “‘not know’?”

“I just don’t! He looked like a handsy creep to begin with and I _told_ you to stay away but of fucking course you didn’t and then he was touching you even though you weren’t having any part of it-”

“I had it under control! It’s not like I would have let him get any further than that. And sleeping with him?” Allen shudders. “No way. Besides, why does it matter? You can’t tolerate me for more than a couple hours at a time.”

“I never said that! Don’t put words in my mouth.”

“It’s true, though,” Allen says, voice hoarse after all his screaming. The strain is making it harder to yell. “We’re just… just business partners.”

“Really? That’s all you see us as?”

“We’re working together like business partners.”

“You actually believe-”

“Don’t pretend like you care about me.”

“But I _do_ , okay? I can’t stand watching perverts drool all over you! That’s not what you deserve! And then you have to go and be nice enough to hang around an asshole like me and be _okay_ with it and you’re always talking about how good I look when you’re the one that’s-” Kanda’s brain finally catches up to his babbling mouth and his jaw snaps shut. Realization strikes him. “Aren’t you the one who told me to appreciate people who care? People who want to protect me?”

In an instant, Allen’s entire demeanor changes. His shoulders drop, relaxed, and his sneer smooths into a confused line. The fire in his eyes cools to a familiar, wondrous silver, and his defensive stance eases into hopeful curiosity.

“You… were doing it to protect me?”

And Kanda thought _he_ was the idiot.

“God, beansprout, you really are thick sometimes.”

Before he can change his mind, Kanda crosses the space between them and joins their lips in a clumsy kiss. Their teeth clank, noses collide, and Kanda draws back, horrified by his attempt. He tries to be romantic and go figure- it backfires on him.

Terrified, he cracks his eyes open.

But Allen isn’t mad. He isn’t disgusted or mortified or any of the things Kanda expects.

No, he’s grinning. _Grinning_. A massive smile that looks like it may split his face in two. There’s wicked intent behind his hooded stare, the sort Kanda recognizes from the first night they met.

“Sor-“

Allen swallows the rest of Kanda’s apology. And suddenly Kanda can’t breathe because Allen’s _kissing him_.

Anxious fingers curl around the nape of Kanda’s neck, burying themselves in thick layers of black hair. Unsure, Kanda tries breathing through his nose. It’s hard and, in the quiet taxicab, he hears the light huffing and puffing of his panting. He doesn’t know where to rest his hands and settles for leaving them on Allen’s thighs. His body refuses to move so he just sits, letting Allen lead the way as he tries to remain calm because holy fucking shit _Allen Walker is kissing him?_ In the back of a taxi? Fingernails lightly scrape along his scalp and a tiny noise slips out, unbidden. Allen laughs against his mouth and draws back a bit.

“You’ve never kissed anyone, have you?” He snickers. In the darkness of the cab, Kanda can just barely make out Allen’s dilated pupils, enthralled, as they zero in on his lips. They’re riveted to the spot and, absentmindedly, Kanda’s tongue darts out to soothe the tingling. Allen mirrors the gesture.

“No,” Kanda answers weakly.

“Oh?”

“Just once.” A beat. “Alma.”

Allen sags a little, and Kanda can tell he’s about to pull away completely. _Dammit, keep your mouth shut_ , he scolds himself. Before he loses Allen, Kanda leans forward and seals their lips together again. Allen gasps, returning his hands to their original position. He angles his face differently and changes the kiss to something less chaste, more exploratory. Aware of his body now, Kanda slowly slides his arms around Allen’s waist, past the pesky seatbelt, and let’s his hands wander over the dip of Allen’s spine, lingering there. He squeezes experimentally, and Allen releases another breathless gasp.

It feels… really good.

“Um, sirs?”

Kanda and Allen jump apart. Their lips part with a wet pop, which sounds a thousand times louder than it should in the tiny cab. Kanda curses under his breath as he attempts to untangle his hair. This definitely falls under the category of _Times Allen’s Obsession with Kanda’s Hair Got Them in Trouble_.

“Y-yes?” Allen manages to say. Unlike Kanda, his hair survived the impromptu makeout session. Other than his swollen lips and scarlet cheeks, he appears innocent enough. “Something wrong?”

“No I just- I wanted to let you know we’ve reached Mr. Kanda’s destination.” The driver doesn’t turn around, but Kanda easily makes out his flushed skin, exposed by a nearby street light.

“Thank you! Well, you heard the man, BaKanda,” Allen says and looks over at Kanda. “We’re here.”

Kanda swears he can _feel_ the sweat beading on his skin. Allen’s statement and body language totally contradict each other. While he’s urging Kanda to get out while he stays, his fingers hover over the seat belt buckle, ready at any second. His eyes hold a silent question: am I joining you?

“I can see that,” Kanda sighs and unbuckles himself. He reaches into his pocket and flips through his wallet for the cab fee. Smirking, he gathers the bills and holds them out for the driver.

“Thank y- wait.” The man’s gaze flits between the offered money and Kanda. Confusion furrows his brow. “Your fee is only-”

“C’mon, beansprout.” Kanda pushes open the car door, ignoring the frazzled cab driver’s protests. “I’m not gonna wait around all night.”

There’s an instant of stunned silence before anything happens. Allen mumbles something unintelligible- Kanda guesses it’s a ‘thank you’- and the opposite door opens, closing moments later with a resonant _thud_.

Allen doesn’t need to be told twice.

 

* * *

 

The short trip to Kanda’s room passes by in a blur.

They’re walking, practically jogging, through the front door of the apartment complex. The woman working the front desk regards them curiously, cherry red lips pursed, but she says nothing. Not even when Kanda jabs the elevator button fifty- probably more- times just to be absolutely sure it reaches the ground floor as soon as possible.

Allen fidgets at his side. Neither of them can stand still, nervously shifting, right foot, left foot, and back to right. Thankfully, they only have to wait a minute or two before the faint _ding_ of the elevator door sliding open fills the empty lobby.

Somehow, the two shuffle inside, arranging themselves against the back wall.

 _I want to kiss him_.

Kanda considers smacking his cheeks to try and make the feeling go away. _Really?_ He wants to ask himself. Can his body seriously not chill for another few minutes? He’s gone years without kissing people; he’ll survive.

 _But it’s Allen_.

He tells his subconscious to shove it. Allen won’t let him live it down if he loses his self-control and tries to suck his face off in public. Well, where there are security cameras at least. Unless Allen… is into that?

_Kissing. Right now._

“Incredible,” Kanda mutters angrily under his breath. Luckily, Allen doesn’t seem to catch it.

He turns his attention to the numbers above the door, flashing mockingly. 3, 4, 5, 6…

A large blue “7” marks the end of their arduous elevator journey. Kanda lunges forward the second they come to a full stop. As expected, Allen does the same, and they’re both pushing past each other to leave the elevator.

Not a single person wanders the hallways. Normally, there are a handful of stragglers, a bit woozy and unsteady after drinking or partying. There’s also an older woman on Kanda’s floor who does laundry at one in the morning. But, to his relief, they’ve just missed her. Kanda quickens his pace and grabs for Allen, snagging his wrist.

Allen doesn’t ask why they’re in such a hurry. He doesn’t ask about Kanda’s room number or about his aim for the night.

It takes far too long to dig out his room key and shove open the door. Kanda’s hands are shaking and he nearly drops the damn things once or twice. Allen is practically bouncing on his feet at this point, standing as close to the door as he can possibly get.

Kanda jiggles the key around until, eventually, the lock opens with a barely audible sound. Before he can make to push his way through, Allen grabs for the door knob and _shoves._ In a surprising display of strength, it slams open, hitting the wall on the other side.

“Someone’s excited,” Kanda jeers but Allen grabs him by the collar, effectively silencing every snide remark Kanda had prepared. Allen drags him down for a kiss and it’s hungry, demanding, nothing at all like the Allen who stopped him from kicking the shit out of a pushy stranger at the bar an hour prior.

A startled huff escapes Kanda’s mouth as Allen pulls away. He’s dizzy from the force of Allen’s ministrations and finds himself chasing after his touch. He hadn’t even noticed his own arms moving to circle Allen’s waist.

Allen scans the apartment, turning before Kanda gets a good look at his face. “That works,” he whispers to no one in particular.

“What the hell are you-”

Fingers still snagged in Kanda’s shirt collar, Allen leads them toward the couch. Kanda remembers the day Tiedoll picked it out for him, a bulky, black L-shaped piece of furniture, in case he had “friends over.” _Yeah, right_ , Kanda had thought at the time, but, as Allen relinquishes his hold and crawls along the longer section of cushions, Kanda is grateful. Beyond grateful.

He owes Tiedoll big time.

Allen slinks along the couch, moving away from Kanda, and peeks over his shoulder. Spine curved in a tempting and sinuous S shape, his vest and shirt ride up a bit to reveal the dimples at his lower back. And, from this angle, Kanda gets a spectacular view of his ass, shaped by those tight dress pants, the pair that should be fucking outlawed. His mouth waters.

“Well?” Allen purrs.

“Uh,” Kanda replies intelligently. “Um.”

Allen closes his eyes and sighs. He turns in a little circle and starts crawling _toward_ Kanda. Who is on the brink of bursting into flames and can’t seem to make his body do what he wants.

“I never imagined you to be the blushing virgin in this scenario.” Allen laughs, low and amused. “But I suppose it makes sense. What with your charm and wit.”

“Hey,” Kanda croaks, wanting to protest, but the gears in his brain grind to a halt. “You’ve… imagined…?”

“And you haven’t?” Allen lifts his body, shifting on to his knees. His hair is tied back in a low ponytail, but it’s slowly coming undone, more and more white flyaways freeing themselves from the confines of the red elastic band. Moving closer to the edge, Allen raises his arms and leans closer to Kanda.

That’s when Kanda notices: he’s still wearing the gloves.

Kanda thanks his quick reflexes as he snatches Allen’s hands. Wide eyed, Allen jerks, trying to pull them back. “Kanda,” he warns.

“Why are you still wearing these?” The shock of seeing the gloves, at a time like this, gives Kanda the courage to find his voice.

He fully expects Allen to laugh it off, to flush and admit he’d forgotten. _Gloves don’t belong in the bedroom,_ he would say. Instead, he grimaces and tries, yet again, to free himself. “Kanda, seriously-”

“Please,” Kanda begs, something he rarely ever does, “please just tell me. I won’t make you take them off if you don’t want to. I’m not a total dick.”

Something flickers in Allen’s gaze- uncertainty, maybe- but he relaxes, no longer fighting Kanda’s hold. He lowers his head, hiding beneath the cover of his bangs. “You’ll think it’s disgusting.”

“Nothing about you is disgusting,” Kanda blurts. Realizing his choice of words, horrified by his own straightforwardness, he sputters, “Except that sense of humor of yours. Idiot beansprout.”

Allen chuckles but it’s not the same melodious chime Kanda has grown accustomed to. Wary, quiet, uncharacteristic. Kanda gently rubs his thumb across the back of one of Allen’s shaky hands. To his surprise, Allen twitches, almost as if it hurts or feels weird. “Hey… I promise I won’t say a damned thing about whatever you’re hiding under these. You could have eight fingers or a third arm or- fuck, I really don’t care.”

“You say that now-”

“I’m serious,” Kanda interjects. Sliding his fingers down to Allen’s wrist, he meets Allen’s wavering gaze. Indecision flickers across his eyes, and Kanda slips a finger under the soft white fabric. “Please?”

Allen worries his bottom lip. A few seconds of heavy silence follow before he murmurs a frustrated, “Stupid Kanda,” and offers a nod. His fingers continue to shake, telling Kanda everything without Allen even having to say another word. Carefully, he releases Allen’s hands and removes the glove.

Kanda has no control over the gasp that falls from his mouth.

Red, so much red. Rough and misshapen skin, stretching all the way from the tips of his fingers past his wrist, disappearing into his shirt. Kanda rolls the sleeve back, swallowing nervously as more and more of the puckered crimson skin is revealed. Fortunately, Allen remains still and lets Kanda touch, lets him gently trace his fingertips along every dip and crater, mapping out the uneven surface.

“How…?” Kanda ventures, unsure as to whether he should even be asking.

“I was born with this-” Allen grits his teeth around the word- “deformity.”

 _Shit_. Kanda is speechless. It doesn’t appear to cause Allen pain, thankfully, so he keeps going until his thumb brushes the inside of Allen’s elbow. He flinches but not away. His other hand falls back to his side, fingers clenching into the leathery couch cushion.  Kanda checks his face and is surprised to find his lips slightly parted, eyes tracing the path of Kanda’s fingers, cheeks lightly flushed.

“Does it… feel good?” Kanda wonders, kneading his fingers into the sensitive skin. Allen buries his nose in his shoulder, and his eyes flutter shut, a tiny pleased noise gliding over his lips. The sight makes Kanda feel feverish.

Never in a million years did Kanda think he’d see Allen like this. The proud gambler, swindling people out of drinks with his charisma and sharp tongue. The cheeky schemer, spouting witty insults only to follow up with genuine compliments, sparkling smile drawing people in like moths to a flame. Kanda thinks back to all of the times Allen called him “beautiful” or “pretty.” And how he always shrugged off any mention of his own good looks.

Kanda takes a step closer and reaches for Allen’s other arm. Just as he did before, he slides off the glove and tosses it on the floor to join its twin. Kanda sets both hands on his shoulders and moves until his knees press against the end of the couch. Allen hesitantly raises his head, meeting Kanda’s eyes. Never once breaking eye contact, he scoots closer and curls his fingers to rest at the base of Kanda’s skull. The brush of bare skin against bare skin makes Kanda shudder, and Allen grins.

“I always had a feeling you liked this,” Allen says, a bit raspy. Normally, Kanda would deny the accusations and maybe tack on an insult for good measure, but it’s hard when Allen is making fucking bedroom eyes at him.

Allen tangles his fingers in Kanda’s hair and _tugs_.

“Fuck!” Kanda hates how the tiny burst of pain makes him arch into Allen’s touch. “What’d you do that for?”

“I was right,” Allen singsongs. He stretches upward, exposing more of his midriff, and Kanda itches to get rid of the stupid shirt and vest standing between him and a half-naked Allen Walker. “Looks like you enjoy this as much as I do.”

He punctuates the sentence by pressing a kiss to Kanda’s jaw. Hovering there, his lips are soft, questioning, and Kanda expresses his agreement by wrapping his arms around Allen’s waist. They’re not close enough for his liking so he squeezes, just to bring their chests together, and Allen breathes an excited sigh against his heated skin. His mouth leaves a fiery trail in its wake as he kisses the area where Kanda’s jaw meets his neck, the corner of his mouth, lingering there the longest.

“You’ll think this is weird-” a kiss to the other corner of Kanda’s mouth- “but you taste _amazing_.”

Kanda swears his face has finally caught fire. “Fucking beansp- mmf!”

Allen presses into the kiss, needy, just short of harsh. Their teeth clank together as they did in the taxi, but not as the result of inexperience. This time, it’s the force of Allen’s intentions, his yearning, the heady cloud of _we’re actually doing this_ that swallows the room whole. Instinctively, Kanda snakes his hands up Allen’s back. His fingers meet the elastic band and, frustrated enough as it is with the layer of clothing still separating their bodies, Kanda yanks it out.

The motion tugs Allen’s head back along with it, and their lips part for a moment. Allen gasps, startled but far from displeased, and scratches at Kanda’s scalp as he seals their mouths together. Kanda is an eager participant this go around, moving along with Allen, following every silent but urgent message he expresses through contact.

Adrenaline pounds through Kanda’s veins and, following some crazy, ridiculous whim, he shifts his arms and pushes Allen on to his back. The cushions bounce beneath Allen as he falls, a delighted, “Kanda!” trickling from his mouth. He lifts his arms over his head and straightens his legs, laughing and smiling innocently up at Kanda like he has no idea what effect he has on him. Although, knowing Allen, he probably does.

“Now, this feels more like the Kanda I know,” Allen says, “Maybe the blushing virgin facade is just an act.”

Kanda’s heart stutters at the way Allen shapes the word, “facade.” Flustered, he moves toward the line of buttons that have been mocking him all night. “How did you learn to kiss like that anyway? Hopefully not your ‘Master.’”

Allen grimaces, as if the very thought makes him sick. “No. Definitely not,” Allen explains, watching as Kanda makes quick work of his vest. “There was a man visiting the casino one day. We talked a bit when I got off work and… he agreed to teach me.”

Kanda freezes, just having undone the last button. “You let some random creep with a gambling problem show you how to _kiss_?”

“We were drunk, and he was quite nice. Not a creep,” Allen explains with an exasperated eye roll. “Nothing else happened. He just taught me the basics. And he had such lovely red hair.”

_No._

_No, no, no._ Kanda feels his libido fizzle to a dying flame. “His name?”

“Levi? Robby?” Allen lifts his torso just enough to shrug out of the vest. It drops to the floor, and he settles back into the plush comfort of the couch. “Lavi?”

“Oh my _god_ ,” Kanda groans, dragging his hands down his face. Is his life really this much of a joke? “My airheaded shithead of a partner is the guy who taught you how to kiss?”

“That was your _partner_?” Allen asks, dumbfounded. “He’s quite the kisser.”

“That’s the last thing I wanna hear at a time like this!”

“It’s no big deal, really! It’s not like I had sex with him or anything.”

“What the hell?”

“I swear!” Allen pleads, propping himself up on his elbows. “I haven’t talked to or seen him since.”

“Of all the people…” Kanda mumbles.

“Calm down,” Allen says, steadily meeting Kanda’s disgruntled scowl. He drops back and slides his hands up his torso, slowly, playfully brushing every button on the way up to his collarbone. “Now, are you going to get rid of this dreadful shirt or do I have to do everything myself?”

 _Of course he’s all prim and proper in this sort of situation._ As much as Kanda would love to know more about the whole fake out makeout session with Lavi, Allen has a point: the shirt needs to go. Immediately.

“Why are you so…” Kanda grits his teeth and sets to work. Frustration helps him as he goes, quickening the process instead of hindering it. The shirt flutters open, revealing the pale expanse of Allen’s chest. Smooth and free of any blemishes or scars, Kanda feels a twinge of embarrassment at the thought of exposing his own body.

Allen smiles and all too happily sits up, tugging his arms out of each sleeve. He slings it over the back of the couch, distancing it from the discarded gloves and vest. Muscles shift and move beneath his skin as he moves toward Kanda. “Your turn.”

Kanda swallows down the protest rising up his throat. He stiffens, watching as Allen loosens each button. _You’ll think it’s disgusting_ , Allen had said. It makes sense to him now as he stands in the middle of his living room, allowing Allen to see something very few people have seen before.

To be honest, Kanda is scared.

Scared of what Allen will think, scared of what he’ll say when he finds out this “beautiful” person is actually quite ugly under all those layers of clothing. He almost feels guilty, like he’s been lying to Allen or deceiving him. 

With one final flourish of his hands, Allen undoes the last button. Kanda can’t bring himself to meet Allen’s gaze as curious hands trail over his collarbone and glide over his shoulders, disrobing him in a manner suited to the evident tension restraining his body. It flutters to the floor and around Kanda’s feet.

Kanda can hardly breathe. His body is taut, like a string about to snap. _Ugly, ugly, ugly._ Rattling inside his head like a self-deprecating mantra. Kanda wants to tell Allen not to look, to preserve the pristine image he’s likely conjured up, but the gentle, hesitant brush of fingers steal the words from Kanda’s mouth.

Haltingly, achingly slow, Allen traces the swirling black ink covering the left side of his chest. Every curve and jagged edge. No one has ever touched it before, other than himself, and he finds that it tickles. Allen reaches the very center and presses his palm over the symbol, curling his fingers against Kanda’s skin. His bottom lip is caught beneath his teeth, eyes narrowed, as if memorizing each individual stretch of black ink.

Allen lifts his gaze, inquisitive. Kanda hates how many times he’s had to mention Alma tonight, especially in such an intimate space, and hopes Allen keeps quiet about the tattoo. _What does it mean?_ His eyes ask. But something in Kanda’s answering look must dispel his curiosity. He doesn’t comment on the art and, instead, turns his attention back to exploring Kanda. Both eyes and hands move downward, lightly skimming over the handful of scars, lines of puckered skin, scattered across Kanda’s torso. Allen brushes one near his hip, and Kanda shudders.

Kanda waits with baited breath. He’s ready for the slew of jokes. He’s ready for the uncomfortable silence that follows, ready for Allen to scoop up his clothes and leave. Never come back, never speak to Kanda again.

“Kanda?” Allen leans his forehead against Kanda’s sternum, exhales soft and warm. Kanda wills himself to speak but only a weak, “Hm?” surfaces.

Hands settle on his bare waist. “You really… you really are beautiful.”

Warmth settles in the pit of Kanda’s gut. “You’re crazy.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Allen snickers. He nuzzles Kanda’s stomach and laughs even harder as the muscles ripple and dance beneath his touch. “Stay still,” he commands, face now level with the crotch of Kanda’s pants. The heavy and comfortable weight of Allen’s palm settles on his-

“ _Allen_ ,” Kanda gasps. Allen cups Kanda through his pants, fingers moving along his length, up, down, toying with the zipper. Kanda’s hands find purchase on Allen’s shoulders. His fingers move faster and the building heat is almost unbearable. Just when he thinks he’s had enough and may bring this little rendezvous to a mortifyingly quick end, all movement stops. The distinct sound of the zipper being tugged down tightens Kanda’s grip, an instinctual need for Allen to be as close as possible.

“Look who’s excited now,” Allen teases and leans back. Kanda has to pry his hands off Allen. “The pants.” He motions at the waistband and down to the floor. “They’re in the way.”

Kanda grabs for his belt, sliding it out of the loops in one fluid motion. He shimmies out of his pants, and Allen bursts out laughing; these are the moments Kanda curses tight clothing. He asks if Allen wants him to stop, which shuts him up in an instant. The pants pool around his ankles, and he’s careful to step out of them. He kicks both shirt and pants out of the way. Knowing his luck, he’d do something shameful like trip over a half-assed pile of clothing trying to reach Allen.

Standing in only his boxers, Kanda is less anxious than when he removed his shirt. This half of his body has fared a lot better over the last few years. No big scars or tattoos, just bare skin. Of course, he still feels about two feet tall being on full display for Allen.

The smirk Allen wears is positively _wicked,_ and he reaches for Kanda like he would a massive slice of sugary sweet bourbon cake served at the bar. “Well-”

“No, no.” Kanda shakes his head. He moves to the edge of the couch, and Allen shrinks back, dilated eyes full of wonder. “I show you mine, you show me yours. Right?”

“Wow,” Allen says, “I’m surprised you remember that.”

Kanda leans over Allen, tapping the zipper of his pants. “Oh, I remember. How could I forget some cocky bastard ruining my peace and quiet?”

Eager, Kanda rids Allen of his pants. They land somewhere- he could care less at this point- and Allen scoots backward, giving Kanda room to join him on the couch. Kanda takes a second to gape at the strange pattern, a smattering of creepy, smiling strawberries. It's so out of place but also strangely fitting. Kanda clicks his tongue and Allen shoots back a flabbergasted, “hey!” Kanda chooses to ignore it for the time being- he'll have plenty of opportunities to make fun of Allen’s hideous boxers in the future- and crawls until his face hovers over Allen’s.

“So...” The sentence trails off into heated silence. Only their breathing, a gravelly staccato rhythm, can be heard throughout the apartment.

“So? I’m guessing you never considered doing this with me,” Allen says, “I doubt it ever crossed your mind. Chopping off my head or stabbing me with the lovely Mugen, maybe. But not making out.”

“No, I- I’ve thought about it,” Kanda admits.

“Really? Interesting, very interesting. I like that.” Allen is splendidly flushed beneath Kanda, white locks of hair splayed across the cushion. Kanda tries not to blink, hoping he can permanently capture this moment in his mind. Allen carries on, undeterred. “What a lovely mental image. You, lying in bed, thinking about me with your hand around your-”

“Fucking hell, beansprout,” Kanda interrupts, clapping a hand over Allen’s mouth. “How can you say embarrassing shit like that?”

Kanda feels Allen grin against the calloused surface of his palm. His tongue darts out and prods the space between fingers. Kanda winces and pulls back his hand as if he’s been shocked. “And I thought those bar crawlers were perverts.”

Without warning, Allen wraps his arms around Kanda’s neck and drags him into another heated kiss. The new position is a lot easier on Kanda. He drops to his elbows, framing Allen’s face with his arms, and takes the time to really sink into the kiss, to appreciate the soft brush of hair along his hands and wrists, to enjoy the slick slide of Allen’s lips against his own. Allen’s hands refuse to stay in one place, roaming over shoulder blades, over his spine, and eventually returning to his hair, tugging gently every now and then.

Dark hair spills around their joined lips like a silky, black curtain. Suddenly, something wet glides over Kanda’s bottom lip and- _Oh_.

His mouth falls open and Allen takes advantage of the momentary shock. _That’s a tongue_ , Kanda realizes, disbelieving. There’s a tongue in his mouth and it’s warm and wet and- very nice. It glides along the back of Kanda’s teeth, tickles the sensitive roof of his mouth, and he keens, grinding down wantonly. Heat steadily builds between their bodies, searing but pleasant.

Allen withdraws, dragging his teeth along Kanda’s lower lip as he goes. A spike of arousal shoots down Kanda’s spine. Only the thin fabric of their boxers lie between them, and Kanda is absurdly hard, just short of a painful ache between his legs.

“Allen,” he murmurs, feeling a little lost. He doesn’t know why he says it. The words taste like a question, but he has no idea what he’s asking for.

Thankfully, Allen seems to understand. He urges Kanda back and sneaks a hand between their bodies. His fingers slide under the waistband of Kanda’s boxers, and he rasps, “These.” Kanda has no qualms with that. He pulls away and removes them as quickly as humanly possible. While they’re apart, Allen works his hands under his own boxers and lifts his hips, letting the ridiculous things fall where they may. Kanda lazily tracks the movement before returning his focus to Allen. An insult hangs on the tip of his tongue but dies immediately when his eyes fall on the newly bared skin.

 _Oh God, oh God, oh God_. Kanda stifles the urge to cover himself. Or, worse, cover Allen. He’s seen his dick countless times before. Getting changed, going to the bathroom, taking a shower. It’s always been nothing more than a part of his body. Important, sure, but nothing extravagant or special.

But never in his short and depressing life has he been this close to another man’s dick.

 _Don’t panic_ , he tells himself. It doesn’t help, though, because light tremors continue to wrack his frame, and all he can do is stare. Pink, smooth, probably warm- Kanda can’t remember the last time he felt quite this embarrassed. And vulnerable.

Allen must sense some change in posture, the unseen shift in atmosphere. “It’s okay,” he says, “It’s okay, Kanda.”

Sure hands reel Kanda in, reclaiming their coveted spot amongst layers of feathersoft hair, and Kanda allows himself to be dragged down. Lightly pulsating warm flesh presses alongside his own arousal. A low and broken moan wrenches its way up Kanda’s throat, and he ruts against Allen, finding the delicious friction he so sorely needs.

“Fuck,” he cries out in earnest, and Allen seals their mouths, humming his agreement into Kanda’s gasping mouth. They move together, awkward and clumsy at first, but undoubtedly satisfying. A few minutes of desperate grinding, and they develop a rhythm, a sensual ebb and flow of hips that leaves Kanda breathless.

Kanda tries not to think of the other people who had Allen like this. An irrationally jealous part of him wishes he’d been the first to touch Allen, to know the sort of noises he makes and the soft texture of his skin. But, as much as Kanda loathes the idea of Allen being with someone else, he’s grateful for his experience.

Allen nudges Kanda back with a purposeful twitch of his hips, and he obeys, frustrated when their lips pull apart. Mystified, he stares as Allen brings his hand to his mouth and licks a stripe from the base of his palm to the tip of his fingers. It’s easily one of the most erotic things he’s ever seen. Dark, dark eyes meet Kanda’s and leave him dazed. Expectant fingers drag down Kanda’s chest and he shivers, curious as to their destination. Words slurred like some woozy drunk, he pants, “Hey-”

“Trust me,” Allen replies, voice equally spent. His fingers circle around Kanda and, oh _fuck_ , he’s pressing their dicks together. All sense of reason flies out the window. Kanda cries out, bringing the kiss to an abrupt end. He buries his face in Allen’s neck, whimpering a litany of _please, yes, please_.

“You’re… incredible.” Allen jerks them nice and slow. HIs thumb sweeps over the head of their joined cocks, and Kanda thrusts into the circle of his hand. “I wish you could see what you look like. My fantasies didn’t do you justice.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” he repeats for what feels like the thousandth time. His vocabulary has reduced to curses, pleading words, and Allen’s name. “Shit, ah- Allen.”

Allen starts to move faster, sliding from the base all the way to the tip. “Are you close?”

“Y-Yeah.”

“I had a feeling,” Allen laughs good-naturedly.

“Sh- oh, fuck! Shut up.” Kanda shifts his thighs, tightening them around Allen.

Allen slows his pace and scarlet fingers tangle in Kanda’s hair. “I am, too,” he says, and proves this with a determined twitch of his hips.

Kanda knows he’s doomed the second the words leave Allen’s mouth. He grips the couch cushion hard enough to tear fabric and cries out as Allen continues jerking them, quick and dirty. He’s whispering something- reassurances maybe- and Kanda squeezes his eyes shut so hard it almost hurts. Stars dance along the inside of his eyelids.

His world is enveloped by heat and want and _Allen Walker_.

Scarlet fingers are suddenly scratching along Kanda’s scalp, and emotions crest over him like the powerful swell of a wave seeking out the shore. Allen, in all of his smug glory, seizes the opportunity and tugs.

A burst of pleasure surges through Kanda and punches the orgasm from his body. White shrouds his vision, his body arches, and he faintly registers Allen calling out his name, a sweet and gasping cry for release.

Kanda goes boneless and sags against Allen. His hair smells of coconuts, and Kanda is shocked he hasn't noticed before. Sated and far too comfortable to even consider moving, he nuzzles into Allen’s neck and sighs.

“I didn't know you had it in you, beansprout,” Kanda mumbles. He tingles all over, and it's the best feeling in the world. “I'm impressed.”

There's an unsettling pause before Allen speaks. “Kanda?”

“Hm?”

“You're not… you're not going to leave?”

Kanda tenses. “Do you want me to?”

“No!” Allen replies, “No. I just-”

 _What the hell?_ Kanda pushes through his muddled thoughts, searching for the answer, and bristles.

Allen is used to people leaving him.

“I'm not going anywhere, dumbass,” Kanda says, “Plus, I'll have to clean myself up before I even think of leaving.”

“So-”

“Yes, I'll spend the night. And no, this isn't some lousy ass one night stand. I'm not a good enough lay for that anyway.”

Allen flushes and turns away. “Now who's the embarrassing one?”

“I already lost that battle,” Kanda remarks, fully intending for it to come out disgruntled- he is Kanda, after all- but there's a hint of fondness he simply can't hide. “Let's get cleaned up. This shit is gross.”

“Fine, fine.” Allen pushes at his chest and Kanda stands, careful as he disentangles their bodies. There's nothing fake about the curve of Allen’s lips, a shy smile that Kanda can't believe he's privy to.

Right as Kanda turns his back, Allen calls for him. “Kanda!”

Kanda glances over his shoulder. “Yeah?”

“I think I finally figured out how to remove that sword from your ass.”

 

* * *

 

“Hey…”

Kanda flinches. It’s a Saturday morning, which means his ass is staying in bed for at least a couple more hours.

“Hey, Kanda.” More persistent this time.

Sleeping, yes, Kanda is definitely still asleep. He keeps his eyes shut and tries to maintain the same breathing pattern.

“Kanda, I just thought of something,” Allen repeats, louder. Contrary to his raised voice, his body is limp against Kanda. “Hey, wake up.”

_Dammit._

“You _jackass_ ,” Kanda grumbles, breath mussing the flurry of snow white hair. “It’s important enough to wake me up before my alarm?”

“Certainly.”

“Right, of course. At-” Kanda releases Allen and reaches over to snag his phone- “5 o’clock in the fucking morning.”

“No, seriously,” Allen urges, sinking further into Kanda’s embrace. “It’s something important.”

Kanda is far too tired and far too happy after last night to deny Allen one simple question. So he decides to give him the benefit of the doubt. What could it hurt? Kanda's already awake as it is.

“Alright, beansprout, what is it? And no we're not going to the bar tonight.”

“Well, of course not,” Allen snorts, like it's the craziest thing he's ever heard.

“And no more scamming people.”

“Sure, sure.”

“I'll pay for our drinks the next time we go if you're really that low on cash,” Kanda says, thankful Allen can't see his face. He can only imagine how red his cheeks are.

Allen hesitates. His fingers curl around Kanda’s wrists. “Alright.”

“Glad that's settled,” Kanda sighs, all too ready to drift back off to sleep.

“Oh, but the important thing,” Allen trills, “I almost forgot.”

Kanda groans; this level of excitement can't mean anything good. He braces himself for early morning weirdness. “Yeah?”

“What should I call you?”

“What?”

“If someone asks about our relationship,” Allen says, “what should I call you?”

Kanda knows next to nothing about this bullshit. “I don't know. You said it yourself, I'm the ‘blushing virgin.’ I’m almost as bad at relationships as I am at math.”

“I suppose,” Allen mumbles. “Well, how about my boyfriend?”

“Eh.”

“Lover?”

“Hell no.”

“...significant other?”

Kanda smirks, silently patting himself on the back for his next insult. For the first time since he's met Allen, he has a clever comeback. Hell, for the first time in his _life._

“How about my significant annoyance?”

**Author's Note:**

> kudos and comment are always appreciated!! come cry with me over on tumblr or twitter: @tobiologist


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